


Out of Sight

by tell_tale_heart



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: KPop AU, M/M, hairstylist Lance, kpop idol Keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-21 04:23:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9531335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tell_tale_heart/pseuds/tell_tale_heart
Summary: Keith is a very popular kpop idol, and is, for the most part, very happy with his life.That is, until he meets Lance, and sees just exactly how much he is missing out on.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this series of vignettes based upon the lovely [kagekii's](http://kagekii.tumblr.com) kpop au. Ahhh see her art and headcanons [here](http://kagekii.tumblr.com/search/kpop+au) on tumblr.
> 
> Rating will probably go up with subsequent sections!!

**A year ago**

 

“Keith.”

“Hmm.”

“Have you heard anything I’ve said to you these past ten minutes?” Kolivan’s deep voice rumbled. He sounded displeased. Probably justified. But Keith was in an obstinate mood, not feeling much inclined to care at the moment.

“Eh, not really.” He continued to scroll down his Twitter feed, wanting to be back in his cozy and roomy apartment. The one he frequently didn’t see a lot of. But holing up under his soft comforter and snuggling with his cat, Ciel, just wasn’t on the program for this afternoon.

Kolivan sighed, massaging his forehead with his fingertips. His duties as manager of a Kpop idol were often quite frustrating, but not usually because of Keith himself. The singer had had quite a long week of radio interviews, appearances, rehearsals, and hours whiling away in the gym. So Kolivan understood his client’s current state of mood, to a degree. Not having an ounce of time to just be  _ yourself _ probably weighed down on one’s mind, after a time. Keith usually compartmentalized those feelings, though. It was admirable, really, how well he did in the public eye. The press loved him, fawning over how well-spoken and polite he was. His fans loved him--which was probably an understatement. Kolivan had spotted a Keith tattoo on one girl’s shoulder a month back, and wondered if it was henna. All in all, Keith never gave anyone a reason to critique him, and that made Kolivan sleep easier at night, knowing that his client would never be the sort to hit late-night tabloid news, like so many other celebrities occasionally did. So it fell to Kolivan, as manager, to help Keith bounce back into his usual jovial self, ready and willing to take on a new day of challenges. It usually didn’t take long.

“I was  _ saying _ that your appearance on KBS tomorrow morning has been postponed. They’ve experienced an electrical issue in one of their studios.”

“Ah. Okay.” Keith momentarily brightened on the inside.  _ Ohhh, a chance to sleep in? _

“So instead, I’ve been able to move up your fitting with your costume designer.”

He should have known Kolivan had something else up his sleeve.

“The one who  _ insists _ on trying to give me her personal number each time I’m there?” Keith groused, running a hand through his messy hair.

“The very one.” Kolivan grinned, detecting an uplift in Keith’s mood.

“Don’t you dare try and leave me alone with her again, Kolivan.”

“I wouldn’t dare.” Kolivan cleared his throat. “I also hired a new hairstylist. He’s been working on some of the dancers this morning. I figured you could look over his work, see what you think. Have him work on your hair, too. You’re starting to look a little shaggy.”

Keith narrowed his eyes at his longtime manager. “The label likes my hair long. Plus, I don’t want to cut it.”

“Just a trim. C’mon, the quicker you get through it, the quicker you can move on to the rest of your day.”

Kolivan was right. As usual. It was high time he was done lamenting his schedule and acted like a damn grown-up. He stood up from his chair, and let out a deep breath, determined, feeling renewed. Gone was most of the negative energy from a few minutes ago. He  _ loved _ what he did, wouldn’t change it for the world.

Well, maybe there were a  _ couple _ things here and there that he wished were different.

But still, he had always known he wanted to be a performer. Always singing when he was younger. Taking dance classes. Learning to play the guitar and piano. It had all just come naturally to him, and he had always pushed himself harder to do more. Learn. Perfect what he struggled with. Of course, he never really had time to make friends and be a teenager, but he had never really been the “social” type. Which was ironic, seeing as how his company was coveted by supermodels and hundreds of thousands of fans worldwide. He was just an awkward bean sometimes when faced with one-on-one situations where he didn’t really know the person that well.

Keith walked resolutely through the corridors backstage, headed towards the huge room where his hair and makeup teams had set up shop temporarily. He had a performance scheduled here in a few days, and his crew was already almost finished with assembling all of the equipment for his show. As he got closer to where he knew he would find everyone, he could hear a singular voice flowing through the hallway, the person in the midst of telling a story. He didn’t recognize the voice, and he realized it must be the new hairstylist Kolivan had spoken of.

“And then-- _ and then _ \--he says to me, ‘Lance, that’s not where that goes,’ and I realized I was putting my cell phone in the refrigerator.”

There were the sounds of laughter, and Keith realized he must have missed most of what seemed like a very funny story. He walked into the room, making a beeline for one of the chairs in front of an empty station. A few of the dancers noticed his entrance, and called out an energetic greeting to him, which he returned with a casual nod and a wave. The rest seemed to be focused on the story-telling going on at the other side of the room, and Keith relaxed further at the good-natured and warm aura of the gathering.

He could see, out of the corner of his eye while he pretended to be looking down at his phone, that a lot of the dancers had their hair styled already, and no two were exactly the same. A few of the girls had long, flowing waves, working with the natural texture of their hair. Some others had braids mixed in here and there, pulled back and wound into a bun. It looked pretty and fashionable, working with the aesthetic of Keith’s kind of shows. The guys had volume to their hair, strong parts and combed off to the side or forward. He could tell, even at this distance, that it looked effortless and fresh, and didn’t look like there was a lot of product in their hair. Which probably was to the credit of this new guy, Lance.

Keith glanced up and around the room, noticing that Kolivan seemed to have disappeared. Which wasn’t a surprise--the man had a multitude of other tasks he always seemed to be balancing. He could see Allura standing near an occupied station, her hand propped under her chin as she looked over the latest result of Lance’s work. Keith could only see the hairstylist’s back--he was tall and lanky, but still had considerable breadth to his shoulders. Keith could see that much despite the black t-shirt the man was wearing--how could he not, that shirt fit the hairstylist like a glove, showing long lean lines that tapered pleasingly down to a slim abdomen.  Feeling uncharacteristically flustered, Keith’s eyes panned up, caught on the jetty of neck skin showing above the collar of the hairstylist’s t-shirt. It was a solid dark tan, and Keith wondered fleetingly if the man spent a lot of time in the sun. Allura’s eyes lit up then as she recognized Keith, and she excitedly jabbered a few words to her companion, pointing her chin in the idol’s direction.

Keith hurriedly looked down to his phone again, reading a text from Shiro and typing out the first response that came to mind. His best friend wanted to come visit some time next week, and they were trying to work out the details of when and where they could meet up. He heard the sound of warm laughter and Allura’s lilting voice getting nearer, and Keith tensed, not knowing why.

“Keith!” Allura called, setting a hand on his shoulder. “This is Lance, the new hairstylist Kolivan hired. He’s amazing.”

Keith looked up and  _ whoa-oa-oa _ . His phone fell out of his hand and onto his lap, forgotten for the moment, the day, the week. Immediately, he felt a rush of blood to his cheeks, and his hands began to sweat. This guy--this Lance--was gorgeous.

Dark brown hair was cut short on the sides but longer on the top, most of it combed over to one side of his head. Skin that Keith had just categorized as a dark tan from across the room was more complex than that. More like the deeper tones of brown sugar or the color of a sandy beach during the latter part of the day. Blue eyes were striking and gorgeous, contrasting beautifully with the warm hue of his skin, right now shining with barely-concealed excitement. His smile was contagious, mouth wide open over perfect teeth. 

Keith’s mind seemed to stutter to a stop for a moment, overwhelmed by the guy’s energy and--and stunning looks. He saw, but didn’t really process, how Lance’s megawatt smile disappeared from his face, how his blue eyes widened, how his hands began to fidget. They simply stared at each other for a handful of seconds, caught in the discovery of this new wormhole of  _ feeling, _ of  _ seeing. _

Allura cleared her throat, looking between both of them knowingly. “Keith?”

The awakening felt like icy water splashed onto a boiling hot surface. Keith blinked a few times, embarrassed, willing the flush of his cheeks away. 

“Right. Lance. Nice to meet you. I’m Keith. Obviously.” He bit down on the inside of his cheek in exasperation towards himself, agonizing over his words and the way his voice sounded. Hesitating only a second, he put his hand forward towards the hairstylist, which he took and shook slowly.

“Wow . . . “ Lance breathed, eyes still wide as he gazed at Keith. But then he seemed to come back to himself after realizing he had said something, and shook himself out of his stupor.

“Wow what?” Keith asked.  _ Why are my cheeks still red?  _ he wondered in a panic. He glanced quickly at Allura, who was covering her mouth with her hand now, but he could still see that she was smiling by the twinkle in her eyes.

“It’s just--it’s--I, uh.” Lance huffed out a breath, and then his captivating smile was back, wider than ever. “I’ve never seen a mullet quite like yours, before. We should do something about that,” he said teasingly.

Keith tossed his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Over my dead body.” And somehow, for some reason, Keith couldn’t fathom why he ever had reason to feel despondent earlier in the day. 

Over the next hour or so, Lance worked on Keith’s hair, trimming it  _ just a little _ . Allura wandered away at some point, continuing some makeup trials, seeing how a new bronzer came out looking on the dancers. The hairstylist summoned all of his focus into maintaining his usual energetic way of tending to a client, making polite chatter here and there, getting to know more about this Kpop world that Keith belonged to.

Hoping against hope that the idol didn’t notice how his fingers occasionally shook when his fingers threaded through that soft, black hair.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second vignette! I have 5 or 6 of these planned out, though there will probably be more. Because every conflict needs a resolution, ya know?
> 
> If you haven't already, please check out my dear friend Kagekii's art on tumblr for her kpop au [here!](http://kagekii.tumblr.com/search/kpop+au) Her vibrant and expressive art inspired me to write these short chapters, and I adore her. :)

Lance was doomed. Completely, without a doubt.

He felt like he was sinking into quicksand, and there was nobody around to save him, to take his hand and pull him out of what was most likely his certain death.

Death by the sweet sight of Keith Kogane.

Lance had been minding his own business, setting up his supplies back in the dressing room area, when he had heard the sounds of Keith’s latest number-one hit playing over the speakers. The tune was unmistakeable--Lance could recognize it from the first few chords alone (he might have danced to it in the privacy of his small apartment once or twice before). He had  _ tried _ to resist the temptation of following the uptempo beats to its source, tightening his grip around the can of hairspray he had been holding onto, but he had failed. 

His long legs had taken him from backstage to an area just off to the right of the main stage where Keith was currently rehearsing. Backup dancers dressed in relaxed clothing were moving in sync to the fast-paced music, legs spread wide, hips popping.

But Keith, dear god, Keith. He was a fucking heart attack.

The Kpop idol was dancing up front, framed on both sides by his dancers. He had pulled some of his black hair back into a hair tie, but a good portion had fallen loose and now framed his sweaty face. It stuck to parts of his forehead, to his cheeks that were red with exertion. Lance saw him, more than once, swipe it away in exasperation while he danced. And despite the fact that Lance regularly teased him about his ever-present mullet, there’s no denying the fact that the hairstylist actually loved the idol’s lush hair.

Lance’s eyes next took in what Keith was wearing. As usual, he had on his fingerless, black gloves that he claimed helped him with floorwork when dancing. Lance had tried them on once, when Keith had set them on his station and then proceeded to forget about because he had needed to take an important phone call. Lance had been in the middle of entertaining some of the dancers by pretending to be two Keith hand-puppets and then became slowly aware of the fact that there had been someone behind him for some time. Keith. Everyone laughed harder than ever when Lance had embarrassedly handed the gloves back to their rightful owner and when Keith smacked him over the head with one.

The white t-shirt that Keith was currently wearing was soaked through with sweat, and it clung divinely to his chest, his abdomen. Lance felt the rush of blood to his cheeks at seeing the hint of skin underneath, wondering vaguely what the superstar looked like without a shirt. The thought sent tingly sensations down his arms, past the pit of his stomach, setting satisfyingly into his groin. 

Keith’s black yoga pants didn’t help the feeling subside--rather, it just increased it exponentially. They looked like they fit comfortably around the waist, able to be loosened or tightened with a drawstring. But then they clung like a second skin to Keith’s lithely muscled thighs, tapering off just under his knees. Lance’s wide blue eyes panned up and then down, repeating the same circuit several times. When Keith executed a turn a moment later, Lance saw how the pants hugged the idol’s ass in a very pleasing way.

_ Fuck. _

The music stopped then, and all those on stage came to a grateful halt, stopping to drink out of their water bottle or huff for much-needed breath. The choreographer singled out a few dancers here and there, telling them what improvements they needed to make, and then called for them all to get into position once more. There was a chorus of tired groans, but Lance watched as Keith exhaled one last time, already in position, ready to begin the choreography again. It was just one of the qualities that Lance admired about Keith--his dedication to his craft, his ability to narrow a razor-sharp focus on what needed to be done. 

“So,” a sly voice said just behind Lance. It was Allura, and she sat down on one of metal fold-out chairs next to Lance. “What brings you here?”

“I-uh.” Lance laughed hollowly. “I wanted to see the new dances they were working on.” Yeah, he wasn’t fooling his friend with that lame excuse.

“Hmph.” Allura tilted her head knowingly, bright blue eyes amused that Lance had even tried to make an excuse.

Together, they watched the performers practice, the pair chatting familiarly about their work though Lance’s eyes never strayed from the sight of Keith on-stage. And he felt his body heat up of its own accord when Keith practiced a move that had him rolling his hips once, twice, three times, legs parted, feet planted.

Lance wanted Keith to move his supple body like that on top of him, hips moving in an undulating rhythm, their bodies touching. He swallowed heavily, feeling stirrings of arousal tightening in the lower portion of his body. Calling to attention to the fact that he couldn’t just entertain very steamy thoughts of Keith Kogane while in public without facing some ridicule and heavy embarrassment.

But it got worse.

The choreographer took pity on the dancers, allowing them a five-minute break of sorts. They all spread out, either flopping on stage or gulping down some water. Lance reddened to see that Keith was now relaxing for a bit, eyes taking in the people that had congregated to watch them practice. The hairstylist turned hurriedly to Allura, frantically spewing out the first words that came to his mind.

“So have you talked to Shiro lately?” Everyone knew that Allura had a thing for the multi-talented actor and model, also one of Keith’s closest friends. But only part of Lance’s mind registered the fact that Allura was now the one blushing, eyes blinking too fast. He just desperately hoped that Keith hadn’t caught sight of the fact that he had been blatantly  _ staring _ for the greater part of an hour.

So he didn’t see it when Keith’s eyes panned across the room, only vaguely interested in the distraction from dancing. And then came to a halt when he saw Lance chatting enthusiastically with Allura. Continuing to gaze intently in his direction and losing himself in the beautiful sight that was Lance Morgado.

“Maybe one day we can go on a double date,” Allura said coyly to Lance.

“Pshhh, yeah if you ever get the courage to ask him out,” Lance teased, elbowing his friend.

“Look who’s talking.” The two of them often entertained the idea of what it would be like, in a perfect world, if their respective crushes on Keith and Shiro worked out and their affections returned.

Lance usually defaulted to awkward babbling when anxious, so it was no surprise to Allura to see how red the apples of his cheeks were despite the natural tan of his skin, or how he was now sitting on his hands in an attempt to keep from nervously fidgeting. Sometimes, she decided to take pity on her oblivious friend and refrain from teasing him about his relentless and colossal crush on the Kpop idol.

But not today.

“Oh wow, would you take a look at that,” Allura practically purred, pretending to fan herself. Lance looked, and felt like he was dying another sweet death.

The dancers were still more or less lingering about on stage, enjoying the last minute or so of their break before getting back to work. Lance saw, in the most hasty of glances, that they were slowly getting to their feet, ready for the last part of their rehearsal. 

But  _ Keith. _

Lance thought he had either ascended directly into heaven above because of the sight he was now blessed with--or damned into an eternal hell because he cannot  _ touch _ and because of all of the rampant, sinful thoughts cascading through his brain faster than the speed of light.

Keith had taken center stage again, rotating his neck in slow, concentric circles.  It looked like he was relaxed--for he had closed his eyes at the sensations he was feeling, his breathing slow and steady. At the same time, he was massaging one of his shoulders, fingers kneading firmly into his flesh. The sheen of sweat on his neck shined underneath the lights above the stage, casting Keith’s skin in a light golden glow. 

These things would always be enough to make Lance’s heart beat thickly in his chest, thudding loudly against the walls like an elephant on a trampoline. But it was the fact that Keith had somehow lost his t-shirt in the minute or two Lance had been looking only at Allura that had the hairstylist unable to form a coherent thought for a moment, too lost in the contoured lines of his chest, the tight definition of his abs.

“Holy mother of . . .” Lance murmured.

Lance had known he had it bad for Keith before--frequently turning into a puddle when the superstar chose to talk to him while Lance worked on his hair or his voice going all high and tinny when Keith walked by. It was kind of ridiculous how high the balloon that was his crush on Keith had risen into the sky, boundless and forever rising. Yet he had always known, somewhere at the back of his mind, that balloons inevitably pop or slowly lose air, and reality would strike him down one day in much the same way.

But that unpleasant frame of mind was far away from him right now, for his eyes were fixated on the way Keith looked as he moved with the choreography, not an ounce of fat apparent anywhere on his body. Sweat gathered in the valleys between the idol’s muscles, and Lance lewdly found himself thinking how he would very much like to bury his face into that sweaty chest, hands slipping all over, his eager tongue flicking out to get a taste of Keith’s warm muscles.

“Allura,” Lance said, almost hollowly with the desperation of a man lost at sea and with nothing to quench his thirst. “I’ve sunk to new levels. I want to lick his sweat.”

“You are disgusting.” He really was, but he didn’t much care right now.

The rehearsal wrapped up some ten minutes later, and Lance was still lost in his far from angelic thoughts. Still though, he fought for some semblance of normalcy as the tired dancers descended from the stage, slowly walking past them, nodding at the familiar sight of Allura and Lance but too tired to speak. Lance smoothed his face into one of casual recognition as Keith walked by, hoping against hope that the idol didn’t see anything out of place. 

“Hey, Keith,” Lance said, his voice cracking  _ just a bit. _ He cleared his throat, intending to look away, opting to pretend he was deep in important conversation with Allura. But, to his immense surprise, Keith winked at him without saying a word, continuing on his way back to his dressing room.

Lance’s mouth dropped open comically for a minute, unable to believe what had just happened. But then the realization hit him all at once, and his eyes widened.

“Did you see that? DID YOU SEE THAT?” he whisper-shouted, jumping up and down. Allura smiled.

“He winks at everyone who ogles his body, Lance. Have you never seen his concerts before? Probably caught you salivating at the sight of his sweaty pecs.” This was said teasingly, under the same thread of which they usually bantered back-and-forth. But it settled in Lance’s mind with a resonating thunk.

_ Oh. _ She was right. Lance had indeed seen some of Keith’s concerts before, and the idol DID occasionally wink at one or two of his fans near the front. He sighed deeply, bowing his head, scuffing his shoe into the concrete floor. He had known for a long time--this whole past year, actually--that he wasn’t really special enough for Keith to single him out for anything extraordinary. Keith was on a totally different level than he was--his engaging personality, his connections, the way his singing voice captivated the audience. Not to mention that his stunning looks alone were enough to catapult him into an entirely different galaxy. Once again, he fell back to earth with the weighty knowledge that he was just good enough to do the Kpop idol’s hair. Nothing more.

“Yeah. You’re right.” Lance’s shoulders slumped a little. “Guess I better get back to work.” Allura watched him go, guilt eating away at her for the way her teasing words had wounded her dear friend. She hadn’t meant to be the pin that popped the balloon, but she wanted Lance to be happy, and not hanging onto false hope when she saw none. 

 

* * *

 

Once backstage, Keith hurried to his dressing room, summoning the last of his strength to get him there without showing the edge of his panic. 

_ Lance, _ he thought,  _ why do you do this to me? _

He didn’t know what had come over him like that, once rehearsal had finished up and he had walked past the hairstylist. It was just, for some reason, this powerful and deep-seated attraction he had towards Lance had him acting irrationally sometimes. Keith had managed to convince himself that he had taken off his t-shirt because it had been grossly sticking to his skin no matter how much he moved on stage. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that he wanted some part of Lance’s attention, right? 

But that wink.  _ Goddammit! _

It had just happened without conscious thought. Keith was so used to getting attention while on stage, hearing the sounds of thousands of screaming voices when he danced, or sang a favorite song of the crowd. But when he had gotten closer to Lance just a few minutes ago, he had been so completely frustrated that the hairstylist wasn’t looking his way that he had resorted to some silly wink as his brain’s futile attempt to elicit a response from someone else.

Ughhhh. Keith leaned against his closed door, sinking to the floor. He caught a sniff of himself and grimaced. 

It was some minutes before he was able to convince himself to get off of the floor and head towards the shower. But when he did, it was with a fervent pledge to himself to not indulge in those attention-seeking behaviors around Lance anymore. He clearly wasn’t interested--and even by some remote chance if he ever was--well, that was another impossible situation that Keith would never be able to find a solution for.

For his label had made it  _ very clear _ that any romantic relationships between Keith and other men would not be allowed.

So why continue to torture himself with the ‘what ifs’ if they were really ‘what could never be’?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are some of your favorite kpop songs? I need some study material!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh so this chapter is a little (just a little) angsty. But the next one is already planned out. It's gonna be light-hearted and fun and cute. <3
> 
> If you haven't done so already, please visit kagekii (these vignettes are based on her klance kpop au art!) [here!](http://kagekii.tumblr.com).

Keith knew something was up with Lance, and not necessarily in a good way. The hairstylist had been acting drastically different lately, whether it had been backstage at photoshoots or appearances or Keith’s latest concert. And Keith knew he wasn’t the only one to notice, because it seemed to be a whole lot quieter now when he and his crew were getting ready. Lance wasn’t breaking out in spontaneous and uncoordinated dance moves or making up lyrics to Korean songs because he didn’t know much of the language. But nobody seemed to address the elephant in the room--or at least when Keith was around. Perhaps the dancers and stylists felt it wouldn’t be appropriate to broach the topic to Lance if Keith--his employer, of sorts--were to hear.

But it was really starting to worry Keith, as Lance’s odd behaviors began to stack up, one by one.

It had started off with the way he dressed. Usually, Lance was one for colorful clothing featuring an array of hues--pinks, greens, but especially and most often, blues. And he seemed to favor sweaters or hoodies that fit well to his slim form--something Keith never hesitated to notice. How the cotton or wool or  _ whatever  _ textile it was seemed to cling to his broad shoulders, his slim abdomen. Also, the hairstylist’s jeans were always perfectly tailored to his height and lower body, fitting snugly around his ass (Keith never failed to flush a bright red when he looked), but comfortably enough around his legs. 

But now--now there was more than a subtle change in Lance’s clothing choices. And it hadn’t been a gradual switch. No, instead, one day when Keith was scheduled for a fan event, he had reported to hair and makeup early in the morning at the location. His clothing stylists had ushered him quickly into different clothes and then on to makeup. Allura had been as polite and talkative as usual, but her smile had been strained. Keith had pondered that, before Allura had ushered him over to Lance.

And . . . what?

Instead of playful and bright colors, Lance was dressed from head-to-toe in black and gray. Colors that looked drab on Lance, that didn’t highlight the darker tan of his skin or the usual brilliance of his eyes. His black jeans fit tight to his body, and were ripped near the knees, a little on his upper thighs. He was wearing a long gray t-shirt with some sort of vague graphic design on it--Lance didn’t wear those kinds of shirts, ever. Over that was an oversized and unbuttoned black cardigan sweater with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Keith guessed that it was somewhat stylish, he supposed, something that some of his other idol acquaintances might wear. But it wasn’t something that seemed to fit Lance’s personality, the way he usually dressed himself. Even the black boots were off.

Keith sat mystified in the chair at Lance’s station, too confused to ask Lance about it just then. And he felt that it wasn’t exactly his place to ask the hairstylist about it--yeah they were relatively close, able to talk about home and friends and their likes or dislikes. But Keith still felt the awkwardness of his own romantic feelings for Lance being in the way. That if he were to say something here, all of these complicated emotions would come pouring out and it would be more than obvious how strongly he felt for Lance. Perhaps someone like Allura would better serve as a conduit to ask him about the change in attire.

Or--or maybe it was just a one day thing for Lance, maybe he had been motivated to try a new look out for whatever reason. 

So the idol put Lance’s strange choice of clothing on hold for now, deciding that maybe it wasn’t such a big deal.

But things continued to get stranger from then on out.

Lance, who was always a chatterbox and a never-ending source of energy, quieted down considerably. He stopped cracking his silly jokes backstage, stopped talking about how funny or amazing or good at hair he was. Instead, lately he seemed to prefer being serious, his expression quite somber as he worked. And when he did talk, it wasn’t with his usual cockiness or use of slang words. No, instead he said things like: “Allura, your unorthodox opinion is most definitely not appreciated at the moment.”

Everyone openly gawked at him when he spoke in this way--not because they were surprised with the fact that Lance was, indeed, very intelligent. They all knew that. Keith knew from the first few days in talking to Lance that the hairstylist had a keen mind and a dead-center and rational way to express his opinion on topics that were raised in the dressing rooms. But it was so far beyond how he talked, even his trademark grin nowhere to be seen. 

Something was definitely off about Lance.

But there was more. He started styling his hair differently. It usually looked trendy but neat, some or most of it parted to the side, the strands full of a healthy luster. Now, it looked like Lance had started to hand comb his hair forward, using generous amounts of hair product that made him look . . . less like himself. Uncertain. A little messy.

And then there was the fact that he no longer seemed to be drinking his energy drinks or cherry Slurpees. Keith had been used to Lance greeting him with one of these sugary drinks in hand, defending the taste and quality of them to the death. The hairstylist had been quite fond of sticking out his tongue at Keith on occasion, his tongue bright red from his drink.Yet lately, there a scent of peppermint in the air around Lance’s station, and a to-go cup of what Keith had presumed to be coffee propped up on the shelf near the hairstylist’s other items.

“It’s peppermint tea,” was all Lance had said at Keith’s question, moving on to deliberate over the idol’s hair.

Peppermint . . . tea? What? He thought Lance hated tea--Keith had, in fact, heard him complaining loudly once a while back about the lack of taste of tea, how it just tasted like he was drinking dirty water. But now he was drinking it everyday?

Keith had thought that it wouldn’t get much worse or stranger than that. But then . . . oh no. Then there was the change in music, too.

Lance was a big fan of any kind of music that was fast and fun. He was very fond of singing along, even if he was off-key, clapping along to the beat at times. Keith had often spied him dancing with some of the dancers between tasks, moving his hips rhythmically to the peppy beat, even getting Allura to participate. Keith stared a lot when that happened, eyes attached to the way Lance moved his body. Imagining . . . things. 

But now the pop music was gone from Lance’s station, and in place of it was different kinds of classical music, turned to a low volume. Sometimes it was famous piano or violin pieces, the melodies sad and slow. On a couple of days it was the score to musicals, the composition a complicated arrangement of gloomy emotion. 

Keith loved this kind of music, it was what he usually listened to right before a performance, his ear buds blocking out the chaos around him. It centered him, helped him focus on what needed to be done. But it bothered him that this was yet another thing about Lance that was  _ different now,  _ and it was the straw that finally broke the camel’s back. He was going to get to the bottom of this.

 

* * *

 

Lance carefully tidied up his workstation, considering where best to place the bottles of product and the styling tools he had collected over the past few years. It was the work of only a few minutes, and he sighed, feeling unsettled and unhappy. He just couldn’t figure things out lately, he felt like he didn’t fit in his own skin, and he hated the feeling.

He had started to feel off-kilter the day after watching Keith rehearse on-stage, after Allura had basically told him he didn’t stand a chance with the idol. And none of this was her fault--he definitely didn’t blame her for any of it. She was right, he knew. But he wished there was a way to level the playing field, so that there could be a place and time where Keith might look at him admiringly. Where maybe, just maybe, Keith might let his eyes linger on him, feeling a rise of attraction towards him. And who knew? From there, maybe it could somehow, miraculously, lead to a date?

The only problem was, Lance had reasoned, that Keith didn’t currently show any interest in him as he already was. So he began to make changes, turning in his bright tops for more subdued hues. More like the kinds of clothes Keith’s pals from the label wore when they came around to visit that one day. He didn’t really like the new kinds of clothes he was now wearing, but he didn’t particularly hate them, either. But just changing his clothes didn’t seem to work, so he went back to the drawing board. He tried to act more mature at work, speaking the way he heard Keith’s manager, Kolivan, talk when he was around. Ditched the slurpees Keith always teased him about, got rid of the candies he had often hid in a side drawer. He even started listening to classical music, which was sort of peaceful in its own way, when he was at home and when he was at work.

But none of it was working. With a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, Lance finally decided it was time to give up. Whether he was being himself or trying new things, Keith didn’t seem to like him romantically either way, didn’t pay him any extra attention. He realized he had been trying too hard to get the superstar’s attention, when even at Lance’s best day he felt he couldn’t even compare to Keith’s worst. And the realization hurt him, though he had long suspected that that was the way it was going to end up.

Allura had been right all along. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, his arms folded tightly against his mid-section, his mouth fixed into a frown. He should have believed her. Now he felt strangely empty, like he could blow away with the slightest of breezes. No particular direction in mind.

“Lance.”

Lance’s eyes automatically sought after the source of that low voice by looking at the other side of the mirror, and was surprised to see Keith watching him intently. He forced a polite smile, though his heart was pained. God, even at his saddest, there was no denying how gorgeous Keith Kogane was.

“Did I misread my schedule?” Lance questioned politely, reaching for his phone to check his email. “I thought you were getting a trim tomorrow?”

“Are you busy right now?”

“Well, no,” Lance admitted. He exhaled deeply, gesturing towards the chair. “Have a seat.”

Lance puttered around, gathering a few tools. He stepped behind Keith, combing his hair so it parted naturally, and then got to work. He fervently tried not to think about how he wished, under different circumstances, he could be running his fingers through Keith’s thick, dark hair, the air a sweet song of their combined moans. 

He failed.

But there was an uncharacteristic silence between them, which Lance came to slowly realize, a little curious about why it was so. He glanced at Keith’s reflection in the mirror, not failing to notice how the idol was holding his face tightly, like he had eaten something unpleasant. 

As if feeling Lance’s eyes on him, Keith looked up, a wrinkle of what looked like worry on his forehead, in the crease of his frown.

“Can I ask you something?” Keith asked, not looking away.

Lance stiffened for a moment, but then blinked, re-focusing on Keith’s hair. “Of course.” He felt the tinglings of anticipation in his palms, warmth building up uncomfortably under his shirt.

“What’s going on with you lately?” Keith asked quietly. Lance looked up again, startled. 

“You're acting STRANGE. Your--your clothes. They’re different. You never wore a lot of black or gray before, but that’s all you seem to be wearing these days. And your hair. It’s messy. Stiff with product. You told me once a good stylist doesn’t need to use a lot of it, right? And-and you’ve been so quiet lately. Plus this music. And I don’t think I’ve seen you dance in  _ weeks.” _

He was rambling by the end of it, having let it build up inside of him for quite some time. Keith had told himself a while back that he wouldn’t interfere with whatever was going on with Lance, because there was no way his feelings could be held back in the process. But seeing Lance this way, so different, so burdened, had done something to him. He didn’t care, at that moment, if Lance realized the extent of his feelings for him. Because he had come to mean a great deal to Keith, his feelings much more important than Keith’s fears. 

And it seemed to be working out. Because he could see that he had gotten through to Lance by the flush on his cheeks, and how he was biting his lip. Maybe because Keith had mentioned seeing Lance dance, which the hairstylist had never done when he thought Keith was around. But maybe it was also because Lance could hear the earnest quality in his voice, how he was completely serious.

“You’ve noticed?” Lance asked slowly, brows furrowing. His hands dropped to his sides, and his wide eyes met Keith’s again in the mirror.

“Of course I have.”

_ Shit. _ Lance really hoped he wasn’t about to get fired, oh god that would be the end of his world. “I’m--I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll do better. Really.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Keith was looking at him with nothing but concern, and again, it startled Lance. “I’m  _ worried  _ about  _ you _ .”

Oh. Lance turned his head away for a moment, the empty feeling long gone. Now it was replaced with an influx of feelings, each as bright and hot as a prism in direct sunlight. 

"I just-just thought that I needed to try something new," he said eventually, his voice lame and, barely loud enough for Keith to hear.  

"Why change? You're perfect," Keith blurted out. 

What? Lance’s head never snapped so quickly to the side, heart jumping in his chest. Breathing--breathing had never been so strange a concept to contemplate and execute. Keith was very determinedly not looking at him right now--at least, that’s what Lance thought. The idol was scrolling through something on his phone, but there was a hint of pink on his pale cheeks which gave Lance more than a glimmer of hope that maybe there was something there in the way of attraction on Keith’s end. Maybe.

“You really think so?” Lance asked, a little louder now.

Slowly, he watched as Keith looked up, their eyes meeting in the glass.  “Yeah, I do.”

Lance was sure he wasn’t made to feel happiness like this, now smiling widely at their reflection, his beaming expression bright and genuine. Keith had to look away from it after a moment, feeling the wild urge to confess his feelings for Lance in a passionate accumulation of words.

The hairstylist shifted around him, doing something with his phone on the shelf beside them. Abruptly, the melancholy sound of a violin was cut off. And then the fast and upbeat sounds of some American pop music filled the air, the girl singing about falling in love.

Keith didn’t try to hide his smile when Lance’s voice joined the girl’s, or the way he was downright grinning when Lance used his scissors as a microphone for the highlight of the song. 

“Get it, Lance!” Allura yelled from the other side of the room.

Lance got it. And Keith wanted to give him more.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk klance to me [here!](http://telltaleheartwrites.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! And come visit me on tumblr [here](http://telltaleheartwrites.tumblr.com) if you wanna. :)


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